Domestic Chores
by Camfield
Summary: Goes in with my Domestic Squabble universe. Starscream believes everyone should learn this particular skill.


Title: Domestic Chores  
Rating: PG-13  
Verse: G1/Prime REMIX AU  
Characters: Starscream, Prowl  
Warnings: None  
Other Notes: Don't own, such is the pity

Goes in my Domestic Squabble universe. There WILL be more of this. I have a sequel planned out and started, as well as about 5 trillion side stories (give or take) that I want to write. Give me suggestions for things you'd like to see in the future! I like trying to fit weird ass shit in places it doesn't belong. YES. YES I DO.

* * *

"Could you possibly look any more awkward? Honestly Prowl, those things on your back speak of slightly less than impeccable breeding, you should try harder to do them justice."

Prowl snarled and crossed his arms, looking every bit the annoyed young adult he was.

"I am not going to need this particular skill set Uncle. I fail to see how there is any benefit in learning this past theory, and really, I don't even think THAT is necessary."

"You," a clawed digit came up to poke Prowl in the middle of his amply armored chest. "are about as exciting as watching paint dry. Did your parents download rule books into your processor, is that why you're so boring?"

Pain flashed across amber optics and Prowl tightened his arms around himself, helm bowing. In an instant Starscream had him wrapped up in a hug, the larger flyer tucking Prowl to his chest. The Praxian didn't unfold his own arms, just pressed his face into Starscream's neck cabling, short, quiet sobs making his doorwings quiver and shake.

"Shhhh. I shouldn't have said that Prowl, I apologize."

Breems passed with Prowl still enfolded in Starscream's openly affectionate hug, hands stroking back and doorwings comfortingly until Prowl started squirming. He pushed back, embarrassed, and almost angrily wiped the coolant tears away, optics focused on the floor.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to learn something different for a change."

* * *

"No, you're thrusting, don't thrust, roll."

Starscream was standing with his hands on his waist, hips cocked outward. His wings were spread wide and hiked high in frustration that was matched by Prowl's own doorwings.

"I'm TRYING!"

Prowl had his arms out to the side, stiff and awkward. His legs were so solidly planted at _exactly_ hip width apart that his attempts to roll his pelvic plate fell into the poor-at-best category. It was a jerky, forced movement that looked almost painful, not at all the smooth and practiced motion Starscream was currently attempting to teach him.

With a huff, Starscream grabbed Prowl by the waist and forced him into a chair. With an annoyed "Sit." he walked in front of the Praxian and stood with arms and legs akimbo.

"Just sit there, watch, and try to _loosen up_ a little bit. Primus, you act like you've never danced before!"

Prowl sat scowling, arms crossed and plating tight.

"I wouldn't call this dancing in even the loosest sense, Uncle."

A wave of a servo.

"It has dancing in the name; I'm not going to question it. Now watch."

He started with slow movements, hips dipping downward on one side, then the other. The whole motion a vertical figure eight that shifted a leg at a time, making them rise on pede-tip before slowly flattening back out. Prowl found that his optics were glued to the tiny motions, the slight rise and fall of Starscream's hips as they shifted up and down with impeccable grace.

The movement impossibly slowed, then reversed. Each tiny, barely there movement calculated and put out for maximum attention. One leg slid forward slightly and suddenly the tiny circle became a large undulation that had Starscream's hips rolling in a circle. A full, rounded motion, one that had Prowl rather embarrassingly manually overriding his fans as they tried to come on.

He moved forward, never losing his composure or stuttering through the steps, just a slow, sensual glide that brought him to right in front of Prowl's chair. Starscream straddled Prowl, powerful leg cables and hydraulics keeping him _just _ above the other's plating, close enough to feel the heat from running systems. Close enough for his sensors to tingle from the not-quite pressure, close enough for their EM fields to overlap without thought.

Starscream's field was full of confidence and sensuality, a full and bold mix mingling with his pride in the skills he was showing off, knowing exactly what they were doing to his poor, uptight nephew. Prowl's answering field was shaky, wrought with tension and tinged with arousal, his thoughts on the matter were as muddled as his field was and it showed in the way his fans kept spinning on before they were overridden off again.

A thrust forward, one that just missed scraping their pelvic plates together, brought the lithe flyer's body within a scant distance. It was nearly unbearable to keep his hands fisted and close to his chassis, not to reach out and touch the smooth metal that ghosted so close to his own. He curved inward, mouth venting heated air across Prowl's face and neck, and licked his lips, optics smoldering with a heated look that Prowl was sure shouldn't be directed at him.

The body arched backward, his hips still thrusting and rolling, and he moved back, just off of Prowl's lap. One hand drew clawtips gently down the side of his helm, through his neck cabling, and over his still crossed arms. A shudder wracked the younger's body, embarrassment rolling out in thick waves through his EM field, and Starscream smirked, optic shutters covering half of the crimson optics as he turned his body and flared out his wings.

They took up a slow fanning, those half shuttered optics watching Prowl over his shoulder, and finally the Praxian's fans decided they were done being denied. They roared on in full force, Prowl's arms jerking from where they were crossed in front of him to clutch the chair he was sitting on.

"Think you've got the idea now?"

Prowl just sat, fingers digging grooves in the metal chair, fans roaring, mouth open.


End file.
